


Princess

by clusium_kiss



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: 1920s Gangster AU, Age Difference, Crossdressing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pet Names, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 19:35:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4799693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clusium_kiss/pseuds/clusium_kiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwaine is a gangster, and he's fallen in love with a young sex worker named Arthur. Gwaine knows it's dangerous for Arthur to be around him, but the problem is that Arthur seems to have fallen for him too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Princess

**Author's Note:**

> Repost of a kinkmeme fill
> 
> To expand on the tags, there are references to Arthur having sex with other clients and some of the sex could be considered dubious consent given Arthur's line of work.

Gwaine sat just beyond the dim light filtering through the window, cast by the streetlight outside. He could hear the rattle of the 10:15 express—a block closer, and the building would shake every time a train went by. As it is, though, it’s only a background noise, blending into the other sounds of the night—traffic on the avenue, the blare of a horn down in the dockyard, the faint sound of music drifting up from the bar next door. 

He poured himself another shot of whiskey. He didn’t really want it, though—it was just something to do, while he waited—and so he ended up holding it in his hand, swirling the contents. The whiskey lapped against the sides of the glass, like little waves. It made him think of the cold wind blowing down at the docks, the stink of fish, the crates of contraband liquor stacked up. 

At least no one had died today. 

Gwaine didn’t spend too much time thinking about mortality. His own or anyone else’s. And he couldn’t say he had ever lost too much sleep over the men who had died at his hand—three by a gun, one by a knife. But he did think about the creeping misery he witnessed every day. The waitress in the diner where he always ate breakfast, who tried to hide the bruises on her face with makeup, bruises from the drunken fists of her husband. The man who huddled on the street corner, begging for money to buy his fix of morphine. 

And he contributed to this ugly weal of human unhappiness. He didn’t do anything to make it better. Not like his father had. His father had fought injustice, tooth and nail, until he was gunned down in the street, the blood spreading over his uniform and drying, dark and sticky in the crevices of his badge. Maybe it was better that he had died then rather than live to see the depths his son had fallen to. 

A knock at the door, and then Leon opened it. “Here he is, Mr. Orkney. Sorry it took so long.” 

Gwaine sat up straighter, setting his glass aside. “Come on in, princess. Don’t be shy.”

The boy skulking behind Leon came forward, and Gwaine could see the pout on his lips, even in the dim light. Leon, ever discreet, left, shutting the door behind him. 

“I told you not to call me that,” the boy whined, fingers already busy with the buttons on his overcoat, kicking off his galoshes. 

“But you wear such pretty things for me, princess.” Gwaine grinned, trousers already starting to tighten as the overcoat fell to the ground.

“My name is _Arthur_ , and I only wear them ‘cause you want me to,” the boy muttered, crossing his arms over his chest and shivering. He was dressed in a negligee of pink silk, edged with lace, and nylon stockings. 

“Turn the radiator up,” Gwaine told him, “and then come sit here.”

A few moments later, Arthur was ensconced on his lap, arms reluctantly twined around Gwaine’s neck. Gwaine rubbed his hand up Arthur’s thigh, his rough palm catching in the nylon, and slipped his fingers under the bottom of the negligee. 

“You like wearing them, though, don’t you,” he murmured, not quite a question.

Arthur blushed and ducked his head. 

Any other whore, and Gwaine would swear it was all an act. But not Arthur. For one, he couldn’t lie worth a damn. For another, Arthur’s cock certainly liked it when Gwaine had him dress up. He could see the bulge of it under the negligee, trapped in the satin panties that Gwaine had bought for him to wear. 

“I told you Leon was going to pick you up at 9:45,” he said, pulling down the straps of the negligee so that he could rub his thumb over Arthur’s nipples. “What were you doing? Sucking off some john?”

A flare of jealousy accompanied the thought. Gwaine tried to suppress it. He couldn’t afford to get caught up in Arthur. Although maybe it was already too late for that.

But Arthur shook his head. “Nah. I took a bath and then fell asleep. Didn’t wake up until Leon was pounding on the door. And then it takes a while to get dressed in this stuff. If I don’t watch it, I get runs in the stockings.” He pouted again. 

“Make it up to me, princess?”

Arthur heaved a sigh. “You’re so _demanding_ ,” he muttered and slid off Gwaine’s lap to kneel in between his thighs. 

“ _I’m_ demanding?” Gwaine laughed. “Who is it who always wants Clark bars after sex? Won’t eat anything else?”

“Did you get some?” Arthur asked, hopeful. 

“’Course I did, princess. Now come on, I’m dying here, waiting for that mouth of yours.”

Arthur, though, took his time, slowly unbuttoning Gwaine’s fly and easing his cock out. He licked the head first, getting it wet with spit, sucking ever-so-lightly. Finally, he took more, breathing going rough and stuttered. Gwaine eased his hips forward, sticking his cock further down Arthur’s throat. Arthur made an encouraging noise, sucking harder. 

Groaning, Gwaine sagged in his chair, opening his thighs wider, watching the stretch of Arthur’s mouth around his cock. “Think you can swallow it all if I come?” he asked.

Arthur drew off, wiping the spit and precome off his chin with the back of his hand. “Yes.” He huffed, irritated that his competence had been questioned. “Not going to fuck me, then?”

“Yeah, I am. But later. ‘Gonna keep you here all night, doll.”

Arthur perked up at that—though whether at the thought of how much he would make or at the thought of getting to stay with Gwaine was unclear. Gwaine hoped it was the latter but chided himself for being a fool. Anyway, Arthur returned to sucking his cock, giving it his all, taking Gwaine deep, playing around with his tongue on the shaft. He swallowed Gwaine’s load, too, and the feel of his throat working around Gwaine’s tender dick—

“Ah, _fuck_. Fuck, that’s good. Up here, now.” And he hauled Arthur back into his lap, kissing his wet mouth, lips all red like a kid who had been sucking a lolly, massaging Arthur’s cock through the layers of silk covering it. Arthur squirmed around, humping into Gwaine’s hand, panting. 

Gwaine finally slapped his ass and told him to go to the bedroom. Arthur knew the way—he’d been here enough times, after all. Gwaine finished his whisky and stripped off his clothes before following.

Arthur had turned on the lamp by the bed and was rummaging around in the drawer for some lube, careful not to touch the gun that lay there, too. Gwaine admired the way his ass looked with the silk clinging to it and then wrapped his arms around Arthur, kissing his neck. He helped pull the negligee off as Arthur held up his arms. Arthur plopped down on the bed and started unrolling his stockings.

“Did I tell you to do that?” Gwaine said, trying to grab Arthur’s wrist.

But Arthur twisted away and continued unrolling, giving Gwaine a glare. “They make my legs itch.”

“Poor princess,” Gwaine cooed. He ruffled Arthur’s hair and then gave him a nudge, pushing him down onto the bed. Straddling Arthur’s legs, he ran his hands up Arthur’s thighs, stopping just shy of the red satin panties. He could see the damp spot on them where Arthur’s erection had been leaking. He pressed his fingers there, stroking it just a little, and Arthur jerked, sucking in a breath.

“Just—just do something, fuck,” Arthur gasped. 

“Do you get this horny with everyone?” Gwaine pulled aside the satin to get at Arthur’s balls, licking his fingers before fondling them. “Or is it just me, hmmmm?”

Arthur’s fingers curled into the sheets, and he didn’t answer.

Gwaine paused, looking at him. His hair was mussed, sticking up on the pillow, and his eyes were unguarded, stripped down to reveal a desperate but hopeful trust and affection. A second later it was gone, Arthur blinking and saying hoarsely, “You’re always so full of yourself.”

But it was too late, Gwaine had seen, and he slumped down next to Arthur. “Fuck, princess,” he said after a moment, not sure that he could identify the emotion fizzing in his stomach. 

Arthur looked like he wanted to hide under the blankets, but he kept still, expression becoming stormy. “Well how could I help it?” he snapped. “You want me almost every night. You buy me things. You pay me enough that I hardly ever have to hustle anymore. What was I supposed to think?”

“I…” Gwaine trailed off.

“I know you don’t _love_ me.” Arthur’s voice was harder now, brittle. “I know _that_. But I—I thought you wanted to keep me around. That you were gonna take care of me.” 

“I am taking care of you,” Gwaine protested. “But—well, fuck, you know what I’m involved in. It would be dangerous for you to get too close. And a liability for me.”

He knew immediately he’d said the wrong thing. Arthur’s face shut down and he sat up, evading Gwaine’s hand. 

“I can handle myself. Been doing it, haven’t I?” He gave Gwaine a hurt, furious glance. “You think protecting me is letting me go back to putting out for any guy who has enough cash? Not knowing if they’ll beat the shit out of me after fucking me. _That’s_ your idea of taking care of me?”

“Now wait a minute,” Gwaine said, getting angry in turn. “I never said I was going to make you leave, that I didn’t want you.”

“You just said I was a liability. That seems pretty fucking clear to me.” 

“Arthur—”

But Arthur wouldn’t listen. He wrenched open Gwaine’s bureau, digging around for trousers and a shirt. 

Gwaine jumped up and grabbed him. “Would you stop a minute and—”

Arthur took a swing at him. He wasn’t expecting it, and it caught him right in the jaw, snapping his head back. 

He cursed, ducked the next punch, and grappled for Arthur’s arms. They wrestled together in silent fury for a few moments, and then he succeeded in shoving Arthur up against the wall, pinning him there with his forearm against Arthur’s throat. 

“Let me go!” Arthur demanded, trying to kick him. Gwaine evaded it and pressed closer, jamming his body against Arthur so he couldn’t move. 

“Be still, Arthur, dammit.” 

Arthur met his gaze, and Gwaine could see the fear underneath the anger. “Go on,” Arthur spat. “Hit me then. If you’re gonna.” 

“Ah, Christ.” Gwaine stepped back, letting him go. “I don’t want to hit you. Fuck. Can’t you see that? That’s what I’m trying to tell you—that I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Arthur watched him warily for a second and then picked up the shirt that he had dropped. It was one of Gwaine’s better ones—a blue pinstripe—but he let it go. Arthur’s fingers shook as he did up the buttons.

“I want to go home,” he said.

“Come on, princess,” Gwaine pleaded. “Don’t be like this.”

“I want to go _home_ ,” Arthur insisted, voice cracking.

And so Gwaine put on a robe and then summoned Leon, telling him to bring the car around. They didn’t say anything while they waited. Arthur took a cigarette without asking. Gwaine fingered his sore jaw. 

Arthur did pause at the door before going out. “Guess that’s it, then,” he said at last, and Gwaine could hear the question that Arthur was too proud to ask. The plea not to be turned away.

“Yeah. It is,” Gwaine replied. It would be better this way. He should never have let the kid get so attached to him. He should never have gotten so attached himself. 

*

It was ironic, Gwaine thought later, that as things turned out, they could have spared themselves that whole fight. Because everyone already thought that Arthur belonged to Gwaine. 

“We’ve got him,” Cenred’s voice said over the telephone, not four days later. “We’ve got your little princess. That’s what you call him, isn’t it?” He laughed. “And we know just how to treat pansies like him. You better get that money to me right now, Gwaine, or there’s not going to be much left.”

“If you hurt him,” Gwaine snarled, “I will put a bullet in you. I swear it.”

“Too late for that, I’m afraid. He’s already hurt. The question is, how much more can he take?”

The line went dead. 

“Cenred’s holed up over on thirty-fifth street,” Leon said as Gwaine handed out the weapons. He thought about taking the Tommy gun, but gave it to Percy instead, keeping his own revolver. 

Gwaine gave his orders, sent them all off to the cars, and then called Merlin.

Merlin’s cheerful voice became more sober when he realized who it was. It hadn’t used to be like that. But Merlin didn’t approve of Gwaine’s activities, and the only reason he was willing to contribute his medical expertise, no questions asked, was because of their years growing up together. 

“Can you come to the clinic?” Merlin asked.

“No. I think it would be better if you come round and wait here for us.” If Arthur—well, he wanted Arthur somewhere where he could keep an eye on him.

Maybe Cenred didn’t think Gwaine had the balls to attack him in broad daylight. Whatever the reason, they made it to all the way to the back door before the shooting started. Percy let loose with the Tommy, ripping the door to shreds before he kicked it in with his boot. 

“We have about ten minutes before the cops get here,” Leon said, peering through the broken timbers and getting off a shot. 

Gwaine drew his gun. “It won’t take me more than five seconds to kill that son of a bitch.”

But Cenred, the stinking coward, ran before they realized it. And sirens were sounding in the distance. 

“Find him!” Gwaine snapped, running up the stairs to the second floor.

They’d put Arthur in one of the bathrooms, handcuffing him to a water pipe. He was crouched under the sink, still wearing trousers but no shirt, and Gwaine could see the red marks covering his torso that would be bruises by the morning. His lip was split, dried blood on his chin, and the right side of his face was puffy and swollen. 

When he recognized Gwaine, he tried to jerk upright, but the cuffs stopped him. “Gwaine— _Gwaine_!”

“I’m here, Arthur.” He went to his knees, gathered Arthur against his chest, kissing his hair. “It’s all right. Hey—hey, don’t cry. Come on, now.”

“The cops.” Arthur drew a shuddering breath, sniffing back tears. “You have to go.”

“Not without you.”

“Yes, without me. Unless you have the keys?” Arthur rattled the cuffs.

Gwaine saw his hand, then, the crooked and broken fingers. “That motherfucking bastard. I’m going to—”

“Get out of here, dammit!” Arthur tried to kick at him. “They’ll arrest you otherwise. I’ll be fine.”

“Percy!” Gwaine shouted, and a few seconds later, Percival appeared, breathing hard. 

“Get him loose,” Gwaine ordered.

Percy took in the situation at a glance. He wrenched one of the towel bars off the wall and started battering at the pipe. 

“It’s no good, Gwaine,” Arthur shouted over the banging. “You aren’t any good to me in jail, for fuck’s sake!” 

But then Percy hit the sink, porcelain shattering, and suddenly water was spurting everywhere, and the cuffs had slipped off the pipe, and Arthur was scrambling up, yelping as his bare feet came in contact with shards of porcelain. He staggered, and Gwaine ordered Percy to pick him up. 

They charged down the stairs, Arthur shouting his protests at being manhandled like a sack of wheat. 

“Elyan and Owain are keeping the cops pinned down,” Leon said, hustling them out to the cars. “But we need to move.”

Percy bundled Arthur into the back seat, and Gwaine took the wheel. They peeled out with a screech of tire on pavement. Glancing in his mirror, he saw the others pile into the second car and take off in another direction. 

Gwaine had been in his share of car chases, but this time he kept hearing Arthur’s pained gasps every time they took a sharp corner. A quick look showed that Arthur was jammed up against the door, gripping the upholstery. 

“Hold on, princess,” Gwaine said, spinning the car through an intersection and then hitting the accelerator. 

“I told you not to _call_ me that!” Arthur snapped, and Gwaine relaxed a tiny bit, knowing that Arthur couldn’t be too badly hurt if he was still managing to be his usual prickly, pouty self. 

But he was hurt enough to look pale and shocky by the time they ditched the cops and made it back to Gwaine’s. And he flinched a little when Gwaine opened his door.

“I didn’t tell Cenred anything,” he mumbled, cradling his hand against his chest. “I didn’t.”

“I know.” Gwaine put a careful hand on his leg. “I’m just sorry this happened to you. I never meant for you to get hurt.”

“You’re not…mad at me, then?”

“Christ, no.” Did Arthur think he had brought him back here just to punish him for getting taken? “Come on, doll, let me help you stand up. We’ll get you taken care of.”

Merlin appeared at that juncture, and Gwaine introduced them. Arthur seemed to trust Merlin immediately, and he let them leverage him out of the car. They made their way inside, Arthur limping in between them. The first stop was in the garage to find the hacksaw and get the cuffs off Arthur’s wrists. Then Gwaine took them to his bedroom, and Merlin gave him a look, but didn’t say anything.

“Let me see your hand,” Merlin said quietly, once Arthur was in the bed. “Gwaine, would you go heat some water? And maybe make some tea. It’ll do him good to have something hot to drink.”

“Don’t want tea,” Arthur mumbled. “Cocoa.”

“Sure thing, princess,” Gwaine whispered, leaning over to kiss his forehead. 

He took his time in the kitchen, gritting his teeth against the choked whimpers of pain that he could hear as Merlin tended to Arthur. By the time he got back with the mug of cocoa, Arthur’s fingers were splinted, his ribs bound, some sort of salve smeared on his face, and the cuts on his feet bandaged. Merlin was just helping him into a pair of Gwaine’s pajamas and getting him settled against the pillows. 

“How is he?” Gwaine asked softly while Arthur sipped his cocoa, looking sleepy. 

Merlin bent over the table, gathering his instruments. “Pretty banged up. It’ll take a few weeks for everything to heal—longer for the two fingers that got broken.” He sighed. “Look, I don’t want to know what happened, but—well, he seems like a sweet kid. And I suspect he’s kind of head over heels for you. Promise me you’re going to look out for him?”

“I promise.” Gwaine squeezed Merlin’s shoulder. “I fucked up once; I’m not going to do it again.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Merlin said wryly, but he smiled.

When he had gone, Gwaine crawled onto the bed next to Arthur, who was drowsing over his empty cocoa mug. Gwaine took it from him and then put a hesitant arm around Arthur’s shoulders. “This all right?”

Arthur nodded, curling closer. They didn’t say anything, but after a few minutes, Arthur’s shoulders started shaking. He tried to muffle his sobs in Gwaine’s shirt, but Gwaine coaxed him out, gently kissing his mouth.

“I thought they were going to kill me,” Arthur said through the tears.

Gwaine found his hand—the one that wasn’t hurt—and threaded their fingers together.

“I—I tried to fight but they cuffed my hands to that fucking pipe. And then Cenred came and…” his voice faded

“I’m going teach you to shoot,” Gwaine told him. “So you can put paid to bastards like Cenred.”

“Yeah?” Arthur sounded tentative. 

“Yeah. If you’re gonna be my lover, you’ll need to know how to handle a piece.” 

“You mean it?” Arthur sat up a little, enough to look him in the eyes.

“I want you with me, princess. And I don’t want you hustling anymore or living in that dingy tenement. I want you right here.” Feeling a little uncertain, he added, “Would you like that?”

Arthur nodded.

“I’ll even stop calling you princess if you want,” Gwaine added, combing his fingers through Arthur’s honey-blond hair.

“I don’t mind so much,” Arthur admitted, blushing. “Kind of like it, actually.”

“That’s settled, then.” He gave Arthur another gentle kiss.

“’M not wearing anymore of those damn stockings, though,” Arthur said through a yawn. “’Cept maybe for your birthday. And next time, you’re sucking me off first. Oh, and if you wanted to get me a decent pair of shoes, along with that gun, I wouldn’t say no.”

Gwaine chuckled. “Sure thing, princess.”

He did get Arthur a decent set of shoes—several pairs, in fact. And pretty silk vests and tailored jackets. And an automobile for Christmas and a trip to New York for New Years. They drank champagne in a suite at a hotel, and then Arthur dragged him to bed and rode Gwaine’s cock until they were both sweaty and sore. 

“You spoil me,” Arthur told him afterwards.

“Seems the other way round from where I’m sitting,” Gwaine replied, giving his ass a fond squeeze. 

“Well, yes—you’re damn lucky to be sleeping with someone like me,” Arthur returned smugly, preening a little under Gwaine’s appreciative gaze. “But I meant all the presents and this trip and—and everything.”

Gwaine tugged him closer. “You deserve it. Besides, I love you. Didn’t you know that?”

The look on Arthur’s face suggested he hadn’t. 

“Aw, princess. Of course I love you.” He reached down and rummaged around in the bags lying by the chair. “Would I have gone tramping about in the snow to get these for you, if I didn’t?” He held up a box of Clark bars.

“Guess not,” Arthur mumbled, suddenly shy, and then he proceeded to kiss Gwaine very thoroughly indeed.

A damn fine way to ring in the New Year.


End file.
